Arthur's eyes slid open to the Ashen Crucible of Lord Kael'Zar.
The sight hit him like déjà vu.
Hepta Calamitates.
Where he'd wasted more Friday nights than he could count, solo-clearing endgame raids long after his friends had quit.
But lying against the cold armrest of the Onyx throne… it felt nothing like the game.
Heat clawed at his skin. Lava churned nearby, its hiss and pop echoing between spires that loomed like jagged tombstones. The air pressed down on him—heavy, sulfurous.
Each breath scalded his throat.
"...What?" His voice scraped from his throat, low and rough.
He looked down.
A robe clung to his body—black as midnight, laced with glowing navy sigils that pulsed faintly like living veins of light.
It wasn't just visual detail. The weight, the heat, the texture—he could feel it.
His heart pounded.
'It's too real.'
Not even the wildest VR rigs came close to this. No haptic suit could simulate this—the sting of heat, the rustle of fabric, the oppressive silence between eruptions.
"This… isn't possible."
He forced himself upright, staggering to his feet.
His eyes swept the arena, every corner both familiar and alien at once.
"
A glowing screen bloomed before him.
***
Arthur Magnus
Title: Crownbreaker
(Tempest Guild)
Level: 221
Race: Demon {Aetherlord}
ATK: 17,320
SPD: 11,345
VIT: 129,934
INT: 2,503,434
WIS: 770,443
***
Arthur stared at the glowing status screen for a long time.
His thoughts stalled, refusing to catch up.
"…I've lost it, haven't I?"
His voice startled him again.
It's deeper, heavier, almost metallic.
That wasn't his voice. It sounded like Darth Vader's cooler cousin.
Pale, unfamiliar hands rested where his should be.
These hands were too muscular, too bulky.
The creases ran in all the wrong places, lines carved by someone else's life.
He ran a finger across one, slowly and closed the hand into a fist.
The space trembled.
His other hand drifted upward, brushing against his cheek.
The sensation was sharp, tangible, frighteningly real.
His throat tightened.
'I am not dreaming, am I?'
There was no mistaking it.
He wasn't hallucinating.
"I am really here."
Flesh.
Bone.
Breath.
This wasn't his body.
It belonged to Arthur Magnus—the character he made when he was thirteen.
The edgy demon mage fully drunk on anime and god complexes.
He'd never changed the name. Never changed the aesthetic. Some part of him still liked it.
And now, he was in it.
"But… why?" His voice cracked as his head spun.
'Okay, no flying unicorns. So I'm probably still sober.'
'No glowing goddess. No karmic death. No truck-kun. No "you have been chosen" ceremony.'
The thought slipped out of him as a laugh came out strangled—half hysteria, half disbelief.
"What kind of lazy isekai is this?"
It cut through the silence like glass. He choked it off, forced himself to breathe, to steady his shaking chest.
Yesterday had been nothing but the usual—programming company's software until his eyes burned, then collapsing into bed.
Then he'd woken up.
Here.
Somehow.
"…Focus. Focus."
Pinching himself did nothing but drive the truth deeper.
Every touch burned with sensation—real, raw, undeniable.
"I can't believe this is happening." The heat from the lava, the stillness of the spires, the weight of this new body.
'I'm not waking up, am I?'
Almost as a way to keep his mind from breaking, Arthur forced himself to focus on the practical.
"If I couldn't understand why I am here, then maybe I could at least test what I could still do."
He tried the basics.
"
A grid blinked into existence.
Rows of icons filled the air, and he flipped through them quickly.
'Potions. Gold. A few consumables.'
The sight nudged his memory—these were the scraps he'd been carrying when he'd logged out last.
It lined up with his last memory.
He'd been clearing high-difficulty raids with barely any items to avoid drop penalties.
Hepta Calamitates wasn't about numbers alone.
It was designed around skill; dodge and counter well enough, and even the hardest raids could be beaten alone.
And he had done it, countless times.
He had cleared The Ashen Crucible of Kael'Zar—on mythical difficulty.
Alone.
That had earned him the rare title Crownbreaker.
That explained the empty inventory.
Dying with unsecured loot meant losing everything.
So, he'd been carrying almost nothing.
Only his best gear had stayed—locked to him, un-droppable.
He exhaled slowly. At least that much made sense.
"
No response.
His brow creased.
"…Guild." Still no response.
"
Silence. The air swallowed his words.
His brow furrowed.
"
A flood of icons exploded across the screen, dozens of pages layered with abilities.
Arthur's eyes darted across them.
Everything seemed intact.
But confirming each one would take time he didn't have.
"
No response.
"
Dead silence.
"
This time, a screen appeared.
'Interesting.' He filed it away for later.
"
Nothing.
"Settings?" he asked, already half-smiling, half-crying at how absurd it sounded.
Of course, nothing appeared.
Still, he tried.
"Log Out. Report. Force Quit."
The words echoed back at him—hollow, unanswered.
He rattled off a few more commands.
The result didn't change.
A few screens worked. Most didn't. All the game's safety nets were stripped away.
There is no support, no dev tools and definitely no escape from this place.
Arthur rubbed his temple, thinking carefully.
"What happens if I die here?"
'More importantly—if I did die, would I respawn?'
In Hepta Calamitates, death meant a rebirth at the nearest temple, minus any unsecured gear and gold.
That was the rule.
But now?
His hand tightened.
"…This can't be my new life," he muttered—but the weight in his gut said otherwise.
His temples throbbed just thinking about it.
He needed to find a temple.
If the resurrection still worked, great.
If not… well, he didn't plan on dying to find out.
"To the nearest city, then," he whispered, scanning his ability list until his eyes found the one he needed.
His hand hovered mid-air, ready to cast it—then paused as his gaze drifted toward the onyx throne.
Stepping behind it, he found the slab of black glass used in the boss's cutscene—the one that reflected your character before the final strike.
He brushed his sleeve across it, clearing the dust until a mirror-like surface emerged.
The face that stared back froze him.
"…No. No-no-no." The words slipped out, heavy with horror.
He had given his avatar more flair than he was healthy. And now he was staring at the consequences.